


Break Point

by merae2888



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sports, F/M, Friendship, Romance, Tennis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-08
Updated: 2016-02-08
Packaged: 2018-05-18 23:20:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5947159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merae2888/pseuds/merae2888
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The Game is King or Queen of the Court. Our reigning champ is Bellamy Blake.” Bellamy’s boys hooted and roared, slapping him on the back as he grinned smugly at Clarke.  </p>
<p>“But the title can always be taken away. We’ll play one game everyday and keep score. At the end of summer, only one will be crowned.” </p>
<p>OR </p>
<p>The Bellarke Summer Tennis Camp AU that no one asked for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Break Point

Break Point

 

“Love means nothing.”

 

The kids, none older then eight, blinked up at him, their eyes shining brightly from the overhead fluorescent lights. Bellamy was hunched over them, crossed-legged and frowning at Kane’s newest recruits. The sheen of innocent disinterest on their faces was discouraging.

 

“Love is zero in tennis. Nothing. Love means you’ve lost,” Bellamy said grumpily, for the fifth time. The kids still seemed dazed, even though he’d been teaching them the way tennis scoring works for the last twenty minutes.

 

One brave little girl in the back stuck a wavering hand in the air. “Yes, Charlotte?”

 

She stood up and her braided pigtails fell over her shoulders. “Why don’t they just say ‘zero,’ then?”

 

“It comes from the colloquial phrase, ‘for the love of the game,’ which means that you do it for passion, not scores and-“

 

“Dial it down, Blake.” Raven crouched down beside him. She bestowed her full smile on them and Bellamy watched the rug-rats relax under Raven’s brilliant face. Beauty affects everyone, even children. “You guys ready to have some fun this summer?”

 

They exploded up, bouncing on their rear ends and shooting tiny fists into the air. Bellamy leaned back, rolling his eyes at the way Raven high-fived and encouraged them all. They were young, sure, but they deserved to know what the summer ahead would entail and Raven was making it sound like all fun and games when Bellamy knew that it would be more work than any of them anticipated. They were sanctioned for the summer at one on the finest tennis academies in the world. The ten-week session cost more than Bellamy’s truck and apartment combined.

 

Raven bounced a tennis ball on her racquet, flipping the head around between ascents and the kids watched, as stunned as if she’d pulled a pigeon from a hat.

 

“Enough quizzing. Let’s play!”

 

The kids scrambled to their feet, clumsily gripping their racquets in their tiny hands. Bellamy stood and pulled Raven to the side. “I wasn’t done teaching them how to keep score.”

 

“I know, Bell, but they looked like they were about to slip into comas.”

 

He grumbled, ready to protest some more when Kane strolled into the room. “She’s not wrong.” Kane placed a hand on Bellamy’s shoulder and Bellamy ground his teeth with the restraint it took to not throw it off. He owed his livelihood and then some to Coach Marcus Kane, but no matter what he’d done for Bellamy, he was still insufferably polite, the most inoffensive man he’d ever met. It grated on Bellamy, mostly because he didn’t understand how the guy kept it up all the time.

 

“Sometimes the best way to learn is by doing.” Bellamy snorted good-naturedly at the triumphant smirk Raven sent him. “Let’s get them down on the courts. Start with some forehand drills.”

 

Raven led them out and Kane clapped a hand on Bellamy’s shoulder as they watched them go. “Cheer up. It’s just the first week. I’m sure you’ll teach them all the finer details of the sport before the summer’s over,” Kane said with a placating smile.

 

“If you wanted someone to goof around with them all day, why did you put me in charge?”

 

Kane pretended to mull his answer over for a moment. “’Cause I trust you, kid.”

 

It might be true but it wasn’t the real reason. He wore the Head Coach shirt this year because its former owner wasn’t coming back this summer, or ever as far as he knew. Bellamy just nodded and grabbed his racquet. “Whatever you say, Boss.”

 

He heard Kane’s faint chuckles as he followed the last of the kids out of the clubhouse and onto the courts. He breathed in the air deeply, the smell of clay on the courts, fresh tennis balls, and ocean air mixing together to form a scent that had for as long as he could recall been home. The sound of bouncing tennis balls and pattering feet called him to duty and he drew himself up, standing head and shoulders above all his protégés and yelled out over the activity for everyone to _Listen up!_

 

They scrambled around until they were lined in front of him, staring and squinting against the sun. Bellamy divided them up and sent them to different courts, along with one of his fellow coaches. Raven and Octavia bounced away with excitement, getting the kids revved up to play. Murphy had to be nudged a few times by Bellamy before he stalked to his court with his signature, disgruntled lope. Like Bellamy, Murphy only deigned to work the summer program in exchange for free time on the court and room and board for the summer.

 

Murphy snarled at them to get in line for the warm-up drills. Raven and Octavia were making a bet at whose kids would win a game of ‘Queen of the Court.’ Harper, Miller, Monty, and Jasper walked to their assigned groups with a little more enthusiasm and Bellamy smiled at the picture before him, the first day of summer, full tennis courts, and eager players. He glanced behind him, searching for Kane’s approving thumb’s-up, and saw her. Even from the distance, she was unmistakable with her blonde hair shining in the sunlight. Her arms were crossed over her chest as she gazed across her former kingdom. If she noticed him staring, she didn’t show it.

 

He shook his head, his already sweaty curls matting to his forehead. “Play Ball,” he said, less enthusiastically than he might’ve before he saw Clarke Griffin.

***

The island never changed.

 

The streets are elegant, the low hanging tree branches covered in moss casting long shadows over the cars that roll by with the windows down. The air is crispy clean, cool in the shade, pleasantly warm in the sun. People smile at strangers here.

 

Clarke gazed out the backseat window of the lush car that had picked her up at the airport, admiring the island, following the line of the coast. If she could paint the sun-streaked perfectness against the gray splotch her soul was clinging to, it’d be a wonderful study in contrasts. Idyllic in every sense of the word. The sign welcoming her to Arkadia Island made her choke up. She loved and hated it, cherished and denied it. She had hoped to never return to this place, but her mother had decided to run for mayor and it was an all-hands-on-deck situation. The country club was located on the route to her family’s summer home and she turned her face away when the car drove past it.

 

The house was huge, and looked more immaculate than its forty years of existing on the beach should allow. The driver insisted on carrying in Clarke’s bags and he trailed behind as she ascended the massive staircase to the wrap-around porch. The front door was open and Clarke was greeted with a flourish of activity she hadn’t been expecting when she pushed it open.

 

Women and men in suits, too formerly dressed for the weather and location they were in, rushed back and forth, clacking on the hardwood floors in their business formal shoes. There was a huge ‘Vote for Griffin’ sign hanging across the French doors that led out to the veranda, effectively blocking the view they paid so much money for.

 

“Mom!” Clarke made her way to the kitchen, where her mother was holding court at the island, which was covered in charts and graphs. “Mom?”

 

Her mother held up a finger, the universal sign for ‘one minute’.

 

After a few more whispered words, Abby held her arms out to Clarke and she reluctantly walked forward to hug her mother. “Honey, it’s so good to have you home.”

 

Clarke shut her eyes tight. Even tucked into the familiar warmth of her mother’s embrace, she’d never felt so far from home. She pulled back and plastered on the best smile she could manage. “Happy to be here.”

 

The phone rang and Abby’s assorted minions seemed to jump up in unison. Abby’s attention was immediately diverted as they crowded around her. “I’m sorry, Clarke…we’re just…let’s have a dinner tonight, okay? Just you and me.”

 

“Sure,” Clarke said but Abby didn’t appear to have heard her. She took the phone from one guy and was jabbering away at once in her formal, politician voice. Clarke didn’t wait to be dismissed.

 

Her room hadn’t changed. The walls were still painted like the inside of a castle’s tower, gray bricks and an arched window over her bed, the ceiling a dark indigo dotted with silver stars. The mansion had been called The Castle long before the Griffins called it home. The mansion boasted a view of the entire coastline, her room at the top. Wells had affectionately called it the Princess’ Tower and the name had stuck, to her as well as the room.

 

Over the gray bricks are posters, ones she’d painted and others that she just loved, a mini museum she could call her own. But everything was a bit too bright, too colorful. Only the sudden ringing of her cell phone stopped her from ripping the posters off her walls.

 

“Coach Kane,” she greeted, mustering up as much good will as she could.

 

“Hey Princess. How was your trip?”

 

“Fine. What do you want?” She winced. She didn’t hate him, it was a bit impossible to hate Marcus Kane, and she certainly didn’t want to stain him with her dark mood.

 

“To see you. I think the kids would love it too.”

 

She missed those little faces but just the idea of going to the courts made her want to vomit. “I don’t know.”

 

“Think about it. Summer camp started today.”

 

“You think I don’t know that!” She dropped her head into her hands when Kane said nothing. He was so damn patient. It made her want to scream. “Sorry.”

 

“Don’t be. Just know that I’m here. If you want to talk or anything.”

 

Clarke said nothing. She had no idea what she wanted. 

***

Ten minutes later she was on her bike and fifteen minutes later she was in the parking lot. The sounds of summer tennis camp swept over her. She walked up to the clubhouse, knocked on the window and waved to Kane. He knew enough to just wave back, to not come out and try for more.

 

There was a staircase that led to a locked fence. Clarke fished the key from the pocket of her shorts and went up and up until she was on the roof of the clubhouse. She could see all twenty courts from there. Every one held running kids and camp councilors yelling for cooperation. She was too high to see their faces but she recognized Raven’s gait and Murphy’s all-black ensemble. Jasper and Monty shared a high-five; Lincoln trailed after Octavia like a puppy. And Bellamy, with his wild dark curls sticking out from under his hat and his perfectly toned arms glistening with sweat.

 

She watched them for a while, listened as Bellamy’s voice carried over everyone else’s.

***

Lunch was in the Dining Hall, which was normally decked out in huge mahogany tables and white linens, tapered candles and sparkling silverware, gilded curtains that swayed in gentle sea breezes. It hosted decadent galas on the weekends, always for some charity to benefit the less fortunate. Kings Country Club was for tennis, as far as Bellamy was concerned. For the rest of Arkadia, it was still a country club and a rather posh one at that.

 

But in the summer, the nice tables were replaced with plastic relics the high school no longer wanted. Good thing too, since everyone that would be eating in there during camp was a dirty, smelly athlete.

 

The kids slumped into the dining hall in sweaty droves, queuing up in line to get their burgers and hot dogs. The coaches were easily as drained. Raven took her seat next to Bellamy, groaning as her butt met the chair.

 

“You know, every summer, I expect it to get easier, but it never does,” she said as she piled her dark, thick hair into a knot on top of her head.

 

Bellamy snorted. “That’s because we keep getting older and the kids stay the same age.”

 

“Har-har,” Raven said dryly. She dug into her cheeseburger with a gusto she usually reserved for whiskey. “Did you see her?” Raven asked after her first burger was gone. There were two more on the plate. Who knew where she put it.

 

Bellamy grunted. He knew Raven well enough to know that she wouldn’t have asked that question if she didn’t already know the answer. “I didn’t think she’d come back.” She eyed Bellamy. “Did you?”

 

Bellamy fixed his gaze on his plate as if it was the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen. “Who?”

 

Raven sighed. “Cute.”

 

Bellamy winked at her and turned back to his food.

 

Murphy saved him from further cross-examination. He sat across from Bellamy, cursing the oppressing heat and his wayward students.

 

“They’re just kids, Murphy,” Raven said, poking him good-naturedly in the stomach.

 

“They’re spoiled, lazy little shits, like everyone else on this damn island.”

 

“Language, dude.” Bellamy glanced meaningfully at Kane, who was a rather laid-back boss save for a few specific rules: no cursing in front of the kids, no drinking in front of the kids, no smoking in front of the kids, no drugs in front of the kids, no lewd gestures in front of the kids; basically, don’t do anything that the kids could tell their parents about that would subsequently reflect poorly on the fancy establishment they all had the pleasure of working at every summer.

 

Murphy grumbled something undoubtedly lewd under his breath but since Bellamy couldn’t hear it, he figured the kids wouldn’t either and let it slide. Murphy always started out camp extra grumpy, but eventually, when the summer tournaments started, he’d vent his aggressions on the court, beat the tar out of some unsuspecting rich, refined players, and feel immensely better about teaching snotty kids all day and his overall predicament in life.

 

“I’ll tell you something, though,” Murphy went on and Bellamy and Raven shared a simultaneous eye-roll, “we were way more focused at that age. Where’s the drive? These kids don’t care about being here. That much is obvious.”

 

“Not everyone wants to be a pro,” Bellamy said, failing to hide the edge in his voice.

 

Disgusted, Murphy shook his head, glared his dark eyes at their tiny charges. “Little bastards don’t know how lucky they are.”

 

On that point, Bellamy had to agree. He and Murphy had learned the game on their own, skulking around the club to spy on private lessons and gobbling up every match shown on TV, fleeing out to the public courts after school and on weekends, working together tirelessly with second-hand racquets and nearly dead balls to try and gain the knowledge and skills that these campers were being handed on a silver platter. He couldn’t help but be a smidge envious.

 

Tennis has always been a rich man’s sport and neither of them had ever had money. But they were hungry. That’s how it was with this sport. It either grabbed you or it didn’t. You either needed to win, would do whatever it took to win, chased victory like the dying man in the desert chases water or you were content to be a recreational player, a country club player.

 

Tennis had grabbed them.

 

Bellamy had started working at Arkadia Country Club in freshman year. The pay was shit but being an employee gave him access to what he really wanted, court time and equipment. And Kane, formerly one of the most sought after coaches on the tour. Everyone wanted to be near him and it wasn’t long before Bellamy had secured jobs for the rest of his friends. All the hard work had paid off; he was awarded a scholarship at the University of South Carolina. He was already number two on his team, unheard of for a freshman, and was celebrating his first year success with his old friends from the island.

 

Monty and Jasper joined them at the table with a box of ice cream bars they’d swiped from the freezer. No one else mentioned Clarke.

***

Dinner with her mother was a quiet affair. They talked about the campaign and the dinner gala that was going to be held in her honor. Clarke would be attending. Her dressed had already been picked out.

 

School was discussed, the pros of pre-med over art school debated at length with no resolution. Tennis and its future in Clarke’s life were not brought up.

 

Jake Griffin wasn’t mentioned. His empty spot at the table was the loudest thing in the house.

***

Training to be a tennis star had occupied most of Clarke’s life. She’d dropped almost every habit after last summer but some things couldn’t be shaken. It was five in the morning. The sun was barely a thought in the horizon, the Earth still painted with shades of night. It was misty ocean air she breathed as she tightened her shoelaces, pulled her hair up. She ran the dunes, reveled the tinge in her calf muscles, shut her brain off. It was almost as good as being on the court. She jogged past the country club, saw Bellamy’s old beat up Jeep behind the maintenance building and redirected her feet to the entrance. _Like a moth to the flame_ , as Raven would’ve said.

 

Bellamy was the only person she saw after she ducked under the locked gates. He didn’t look up as she pounded down the lane between the courts, like she’d expected and then she noticed the headphones in his ears, the slight bobbing of his head. He was sweeping the lines of one of the courts with the long hand-held brush, walking back and forth methodically across the clay.

 

“Come here often?”

 

He smiled, she could tell, even just looking at the back of his head. “Oh yeah. Best water fountains in town.”

***

A lifetime ago:

 

“The Game is King of the Court,” Kane announced.

 

Clarke cleared her throat.

 

“My apologies. The Game is King or Queen of the Court.”

 

Murphy rolled his eyes as Clarke nodded with satisfaction.

 

“Our reigning champ is Bellamy Blake.” Bellamy’s boys hooted and roared, slapping him on the back as he grinned smugly at Clarke.

 

“ _But_ the title can always be taken away. We’ll play one game everyday and keep score. At the end of summer, only one will be crowned.” Everyone snorted wryly at Kane’s overdone speech, except Bellamy and Clarke, who both looked like they were preparing for battle. Clarke’s crystal blue eyes could’ve cut glass. Bellamy’s jaw muscle was ticking.

 

It became a thing. Blake vs. Griffin. Money was wagered. Friendships were tested. T-shirts were made.

 

At Monty and Jasper’s apartment, a generous term for a room with two futons and a mini-fridge, the bets were made. Finn polished off a beer and started to shout.

 

“Look, I’m not saying this to be a dick, but _she_ can’t beat _him_! It’s not possible!”

 

“Finn,” Raven barked, “shut your dick hole.” She bet on Clarke, twenty bucks.

 

Finn heaved a long-suffering sigh and put his money on Bellamy.

 

Octavia hesitated before throwing a twenty on Clarke’s pile.

 

“Seriously, O? I’m your brother!”

 

She shrugged, blew him a snarky kiss. “Girl power, bro.”

 

He grunted. The stack of money predicting Clarke to be the winner was growing bigger right before his eyes. Wells bet on her, but he was expecting that one. Lincoln betting on Clarke over him stung but he suspected he only did it follow Octavia. His crush was getting out of control.

 

But then Bellamy lost Monty. “Sorry, I just…have you seen her forehand, lately?”

 

“Do we get to have any part of this?” Clarke asked Bellamy.

 

He surveyed her through half-lidded, slightly drunk eyes. “What do you want, Clarke?”

 

She closed her eyes for so long Bellamy thought she might have passed out. But then she opened her eyes into his and they stared at each other for too long. “You have to play doubles with me, in the tournament at the end of the year.”

 

He frowned. That didn’t fit in with the whole mortal enemies thing they had going. “Why?”

 

Clarke grinned and it was so mischievous that it almost frightened him. “Because I want to kick Lexa’s ass.”

 

Bellamy’s answering smile was devilish. “Hell hath no fury like a Princess betrayed.”

 

“I just want to put that fucking bitch in her place.”

 

He was impressed that anyone could be so threatening while wearing a little white tennis skirt, which was incidentally resting high up on her thigh. Not that he cared about that. “Damn. Bit harsh, don’t you think?”

 

“She abandoned me, in the middle of the tournament, to focus on the singles draw. I lost my doubles ranking because of her.”

 

He nodded, handed her a fresh beer. “I get it.”

 

“So, when she crawls back here, I want to eviscerate her.”

 

Bellamy chuckled, a dark, delicious noise. “I kinda like this ruthless side of you.”

 

“Wow, you actually like something about me. I’m shocked.”

 

He smirked, eyed her toned legs for a second too long before holding out a hand for her to shake. “You’ve got a deal.”

 

“Wait, you have to tell me what you want.”

 

He blinked, buzzed from the beer and the smoke wafting through the apartment that made his eyes sting. Fuzzy and happy, he contemplated telling her about the fantasy he’d had about licking the sweat from her neck, shoving her against the lockers and getting his hands under her tiny skirt. “What I want?” he asked slowly, each word an effort.

 

“Yea, if you win. Emphasis on the ‘if’ because let’s be real, Blake, I’m going to kick your ass.”

 

He pretended to contemplate it for a second but he knew what he wanted. It’d been the same since the first day he met her, in the rec room of the club, when she beat the crap out of him at ping pong and pranced around the table, her long blonde ponytail swishing around her shoulders. “Rematch?”

 

Bellamy had shaken his head. “Oh, come on! Are you scared of a girl?” she taunted, swinging the paddle from her fingers, every bit of her face sparking with the challenge, victorious blue eyes captivating him.

 

“I’m not scared of anything,” he said as he slinked away.

 

Of course back then, he hadn’t understood what the fire in his chest had meant, had read it as jealousy and embarrassment instead of the first flames of something else, something better.

 

“You have to go on a date with me.” He didn’t say it like a question, just flat out and solid but Clarke frowned at him.

 

“I’m drunker than I thought. Did you just say-“

 

“Hey, guys!” Jasper popped up in front of them holding the house phone. “Wings or pizza?”

 

Clarke and Bellamy glanced back at each other before answering simultaneously, “Both.”

 

“Oh, okay, well are you buying then ‘cause…”

 

Clarke carelessly tossed a fifty at him. “Thanks Princess,” Jasper said as he started dialing.

 

They sat in awkward silence for a minute. “So, a date?”

 

His mind flashed to what it could be like, taking her to dinner, sharing fish and chips, walking on the beach while he carried her shoes and the moon highlighted her porcelain skin. “Yeah, a date.”

 

“Is this a trick? Are you planning something to embarrass me or-”

 

“I’ve never been more serious.”

 

She was thinking hard, her nose wrinkling slightly as she judged his face, looking for fault lines that would suggest he was lying. “Fine,” she finally agreed.

 

“Fine,” he echoed and there was a second where he knew she wouldn’t mind at all if he swept forward and kissed her, but before he could…

 

Murphy, drunk and hating everything but Bellamy, flopped down beside him. “So Brother, what special shots are you gonna use to beat Tennis Barbie?”

 

Clarke sat forward and glared daggers at the punk, that little crease between her eyes becoming more pronounced. “What did you call me?”

 

Murphy smirked insolently, itching for confrontation. “Tennis Barbie.” He eyed her outfit with its tiny Lacoste logo by the collar of her pristine white shirt and white pleated skirt and dainty white shoes. “You think you’re fucking perfect outfits actually make you better than us?”

 

“What the fuck is your problem, Murphy?”

 

“You’re my problem, _Princess_.” He sneered the nickname and Bellamy knew that was the moment she started hating it. “Does your daddy approve of you slumming it with the worst this town has to offer?”

 

Clarke winced and Bellamy knew full well that if Jake Griffin had any idea where his precious daughter really was that night, she’d be under house arrest in the morning. But Clarke gave nothing away. She livened up to the argument, her cheeks flushing pink. “What did I ever do to you?”

 

The answer of course was just that she was born to privilege while he was born to struggle but he’d never say that out loud so he just glared until Bellamy subtly passed him a joint. “Go calm down.”

 

“What an asshole,” Clarke muttered as she watched Murphy disappear out the back door. “How can you stand to be friends with him?”

 

It was the first time someone had asked him that. Most people seemed to just get that they had grown up together, that living beneath the notice of the rich and lucky can bond two young roughnecks together more than blood ever could. There was the time that Murphy took the fall for him when they had got caught stealing from a gas station. The other time when Bellamy got a cut above his lip when he stepped in front of a beer bottle that Murphy’s own mother had aimed at her son. It hit the wall but the glass had found his face anyway.

 

“We’ve just always been there for each other.” He nodded over her shoulder. “Kind of like you two.”

 

Clarke glanced around to see Wells, her best friend since forever, flirting shamelessly with Raven. “Does he have a shot with her?”

 

Bellamy watched for a second. Wells said something and Raven shoved him in the chest and turned her back to him, shaking her head. “Definitely,” Bellamy assured.

 

“He’s been into her since the first time our families summered here.”

 

“Helpful hint?”

 

Clarke tilted her head. “Okay.”

 

“If you don’t want assholes like Murphy to get on your case, don’t say things like ‘summered’.”

 

Clarke scoffed. “Don’t sound like a rich, snobby brat, you mean? What if that’s just what I am?”

 

“You’re not.” Bellamy cleared his suddenly dry throat. A dark flush crept up his neck as she continued to stare into his eyes. “I mean, the wardrobe is a little on the hoity-toity side and your spotless tennis shoes suggest that someone who’s not you actually cleans them every night and your four racquets of top notch quality probably weren’t bought with money that you’ve been scrimping into a piggybank your whole life.”

 

“I can’t help it if my parents have money that they enjoy spending on me,” she said, not harshly, just honestly.

 

“I know. My point was that, even with all that shit…you’re pretty cool.”

 

It was high praise from a guy that had a general disdain for anyone that wasn’t currently in that apartment. She was transformed by his gentle tone, suddenly bright and ethereal in the dark, smoky room. Bellamy, buoyed by her expression, let the next words drip from his lips as easily as water. “And you’re a killer. All that training you do with your dad, I know the guys like to give you shit about it,” he indicated the group behind them that was now debating whether Serena Williams could ever beat Novak Djokovic. “They’re just jealous. You’ve got everything they could possibly want, the means and the coach, not to mention the actual skills to back it all up.”

 

“I think you’re giving me too much credit,” she said diplomatically.

 

“Not at all. I’ve seen you play. You’re hungry, lethal. You’re going to go far.”

 

“That’s the plan.”

 

Something about the way she said that made him wonder. “But not your plan?”

 

“Sometimes, I’m not sure. I love playing but sometimes I think, if my dad hadn’t pushed me into it, would I still be doing it.”

 

“It’s easy to keep doing something if you’re great at it.”

 

“That’s true.” She suddenly grinned, delighted and snarky. “I also love winning, especially over you.”

 

Bellamy chuckled as he held his beer up. “May the best man or woman win.”

 

Clarke nodded as she tapped her beer can against his.

***

It went like this:

 

Bellamy started on the winning side. Everyone challenged him, one point at a time. Whoever beat him took over the winner’s side and whoever ended up there at the end was that day’s King or Queen of the Court.

 

Bellamy held his racquet like a rifle, cocked over his shoulder as he sauntered out to the baseline, dressed for battle with his lucky ‘Rebel’ cap, adrenaline making his heartbeat spike.

 

Clarke was cool and unaffected, her go to defense move, spinning her racquet in her hands, wielding it like a sword, white outfit standing out in stark contrast against the dark green clay, the black fence behind her, blonde braid a beacon for Bellamy to focus on. The Lacoste tank top she wore did glorious things to her breasts, which were already glorious on their own, and he thought _cheater_ when she purposefully bounced on her toes.

 

Clarke’s game was perfect and polished, punishing in its exactness. She hardly ever missed.

 

But Bellamy was scrappy, a natural underdog from the day he was born. He never let a point go, never gave up on a ball, hustled until his lungs threatened to burst.

 

Bellamy chased down Clarke’s forehands, that would’ve been winners against anyone else, returning the ball with an equally cutting angle. He heard her curse as she raced to return and when he softened his touch and hit the shortest drop shot of his life, that she couldn’t get, she sent a ball flying toward his head.

 

Their battles just grew more intense as the summer wore on.

 

Last day and Clarke was wrapping her knee when Bellamy sauntered up. “How’s the weak knee, Griffin?”

 

She grit her teeth, resisted the urge to spit in his face. “It’s fine. How’s the weak mind?”

 

He was ahead. If she didn’t win today, he would be taking her out on a date and she might never have a victory over Lexa.

 

Bellamy laughed, not unkindly, more impressed. Clarke had bite when she wanted and today she was snapping at everything. She got in his face, haughtily furious, poked him in the chest. “You better control your boys today.”

 

He held his hands up, more amused than ever. Seeing her all riled up always put him in a good mood. “Can’t handle a little friendly ribbing?”

 

“There’s nothing friendly about chanting ‘Miss It Griffin’ every time I take a backswing.”

_Don’t laugh, don’t laugh._ Bellamy bit his lip to kill the chuckle. “Sorry, Clarke, I’ll tell them to knock it off.”

 

“You better.”

 

He nodded. “Good luck, today.”

 

She huffed, annoyed at having to be polite with him. “You, too.” She spun away and he had to duck to avoid getting swiped by her long, golden braid.

 

Before she got too far, he caught her wrist. “Hey, whatever happens today, I’ll still be your partner…if you want.” She blinked into his earnest face. With an almost shy smile, he let her go. The skin where he’d touched her was tingling.

 

“Really? You’d do that for me?”

 

_She has no idea._ “Why not?” He shrugged, shouldering his bag and shoving past her. “Nothing better to do.”

***

Clarke won. The chants of his boys that Bellamy hadn’t been able to squelch seemed to have spurred her toward an easy victory. Bellamy put on a good show of being irritated to death when he placed the crown on her head and declared the she was the reigning ‘Queen of the Court.’ In actuality, his heart was a flickering flame. Clarke was beaming, painted in rays of pure sunshine, wayward strands of gold hair sticking to her sweaty shoulders, cheeks pick with exuberance, blue eyes flashing. She was fucking breathtaking and Bellamy was panting.

 

“Congratulations,” he offered his hand and she shook. When he tried to pull back, she held on tighter.

 

“How about that date?” she whispered. A bemused smile met her request, to which she sighed hugely. “It’s a pity date. I feel bad that you lost so spectacularly to a girl.”

 

His eyes crinkled as a genuine smile stretched over his whole face. “I’ll pick you up at 7.”

***

Bellamy didn’t really have the option of dressing up too much. He wore his standard monochrome outfit, dark grey Henley and dark jeans with his boots, his leather jacket that he didn’t need on the balmy summer night but he imagined draping it over her shoulders during that moonlit walk that he’d envisioned. Nothing could be done with his hair, as usual. He let it fall in haphazard curls over his forehead and hoped she’d maybe use her delicate fingers to brush it back for him at some point.

 

When he pulled into the circular drive of the mammoth house, he knew immediately that nothing he’d planned would be happening. There was a police car in the driveway and Clarke was sitting on the front steps, wearing a beautiful green sundress that floated around her like calm afternoon waves, and bawling her eyes out.

 

He approached slowly, not wanting to startle her. “Clarke.” She raised her beautiful face and the moonlight illuminated her wet cheeks. He rushed forward, fell to his knees and took her shaking hands into his. “What happened?”

 

She shook her head. “It’s my dad,” she breathed, words of a ghost. “He’s dead, he’s... He was…on his way home and…the car…crashed and…oh my god.”

 

He thought nothing of pulling her into his arms then and she cried into his shoulder, her nails biting into his back where she held on for sanity. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t…he’s dead. My dad is…he’s gone.”

 

Bellamy didn’t say anything, what could possibly be said, just held her until her mom came outside to collect her. Abby Griffin was normally a stone statue that would never betray an emotion to the public masses, but that night, she was cracked. Bellamy could practically watch the shattering of her heart through her eyes. “We have to go, Clarke.”

 

Bellamy passed her off, stroking his hand across her neck as he let her fall against her mother. He met Abby’s eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

 

She inclined her head, trying and failing to secure her mask of perfect composure. In the next second, she and Clarke were sitting in the back of the cop car and in the second after that they were gone.

 

Every light in the mansion seemed to be on and Bellamy lay down on the cool concrete, thinking about the Griffins and this strangely bright house that was now so suddenly haunted.

***

A few days after the funeral, Clarke and Abby boarded up the house and fled the island. Clarke didn’t say goodbye and Bellamy learned to pretend that it didn’t hurt.

***

Back to this lifetime:

 

The Dropship was an institution. Everyone in town ate there at one point or another and it was also the only place on the island that seemed to be open at all times. There were no hours of business listed on the doors and the residents of Arkadia were accustomed to seeing the lights shine into the late night and early morning hours. It welcomed Clarke and Bellamy with flickering neon letters and strong coffee.

 

“So, how’s New York?” asked Bellamy, with a mouthful of bacon.

 

Clarke pushed her syrup-doused blueberry pancakes around on her plate while she thought of how best to describe her new city. “Anonymous.”

 

He smiled like he understood but he didn’t and he hated thinking of her lost in some dirty city that didn’t care if she was there or not.

 

A pause then, “Do you ever play?”

 

He knew she hadn’t competed in any tournaments, he’d become a bit of a Clarke Griffin stalker, but he wanted to know if she ever picked up a racquet for fun. He’d noted her running shoes, specifically not tennis shoes, and running shorts; no little white skirt in sight. It occurred to him that the only other time he’d ever seen her out of tennis clothes was when she’d been dressed for their date.

 

“No.” There was regret in her tone but she still sounded firm, as if she was doing the right thing.

 

He didn’t want to press but that wasn’t in his nature, especially with her. “Do you miss it?”

 

Clarke sighed and suddenly looked older than her seventeen years. “I don’t know.” She took a long sip of water and finally met his eyes. “In New York, it was easy to forget about it, to just focus on other things. My boarding school didn’t even have courts on campus but now that I’m back here it’s like it’s in my face every time I turn around and I don’t know if I miss it or if I just miss my dad or…” She trailed off as Bellamy caught the hand that she’d been wildly gesturing with. Her rapidly drumming heart settled at his touch. He closed his fingers over hers and she got enraptured in his dark eyes. “I really love art. Did I ever tell you that?”

 

“No, but I knew.” She smiled like _of course_. She drew the posters promoting the summer tennis camps to hang in the schools, spent entirely too much time on them and it must have showed. And Bellamy had always been paying attention.

 

There’s a drawing in her sketchbook under the bed of him serving, body bent back, arm thrown high to release the ball, black curls damp on his forehead, eyes hidden by dark sunglasses, shirt riding up his stomach to reveal the dark line of hair leading down.

 

Clarke had paid attention too.

 

“Are you going to do art, then?”

 

She dropped her fork. It clanked loudly in the nearly deserted diner and the waitress behind the counter glared at them. “Why do I have to do anything? Why can’t I just be a normal kid that goes to school and goes to college and gets a regular job? Why do I have to be special?”

 

“Because you are,” Bellamy said simply.

 

“I’m not. I’m not any better than anyone else and I’m tired of everyone expecting me to be.”

 

Bellamy was angry with himself, because he’d done that, looked at her like she was more than a girl. On this island, Clarke Griffin was a legend, a future champion, a princess. It was hard not to see it. She shined, trimmed in gold.

 

“You can be whatever you want,” he finally said, dropping his eyes a little when hers started to burn. “But even if you tried to be just a girl, you’d still have all this talent leaking out.”

 

“So, I have to use it, right? Even if I don’t love it?”

 

“No,” Bellamy sighed. “But I’d miss watching you.”

***

Abby wasn’t busy enough to realize that Clarke was spending most days in her room, drawing broken memories of her father, ignoring the world outside.

 

“Clarke, this has to stop,” she declares through the door.

 

“I’m fine, Mom.”

 

The door thudded when Abby dropped her head to it. “Please, don’t shut me out.”

 

“I’m not!” Clarke exploded. “I just don’t have anything to say.”

 

“Clarke, you’re not going to spend the entire summer like this. I won’t let you.”

 

But Clarke was an immovable mountain of angst. 

***

She ran and painted and ran and read and ran and terrified her mother and ignored her friends and ran.

***

Two weeks later, the hunger woke her instead of the alarm clock.

 

She put on her tennis shoes instead of her running shoes, strapped her tennis bag to her back and biked to the club. The streets were empty, the town still slept but Bellamy was there, like always, like he was waiting for her.

 

“Twenty bucks says you won’t get three games off me.”

 

Bellamy glanced up from his book, his eyes magnetic to the little white skirt she wore.

 

He was already dressed for battle. He took up his weapon. “You’re on, Princess.”

 

The sweat found its way into every crook of her body, her feet and arms moved in sync without much effort, she struck and it felt downright thrilling when Bellamy just watched the ball fly by.

 

“I win! I win!” she squealed, that damn skirt twirling up.

 

Bellamy applauded, all put out like. To himself, he said, “You always will.”

***

It wasn’t even a discussion. Kane just drew Clarke into a hug and added her to the schedule.

 

Her mother was relieved. When Clarke told her she was going to take her summer position as camp tennis coach at Kings Country Club, she kissed her cheek, embraced her close, and reminded her not to be working the day of the gala. Clarke promised she wouldn’t.

 

“And try to have a date!” her mother advised as Clarke ran up the stairs.

 

Clarke had an idea about that.

***

Raven hugged her first. “Thank god you haven’t abandoned me with all these morons.”

 

The rest took turns, Monty gripping tight, Jasper laughing as her hair tangled in his fingers, Finn and Wells together. Even Murphy clapped her on the back, which was practically a declaration of love coming from him. He seemed to regard her in new light, having learned that tragedy and misfortune could strike even the extremely fortunate.

 

The kids barely noticed, expect Charlotte, who wound herself around Clarke’s leg. She drug her out to the court, bouncing when Charlotte wouldn’t let go and laughing like she had never known how to hurt.

 

Summer unfurled slow the way it should. The time passed in a sweat-drenched haze, weeks of tennis and parties, tennis and late nights blowing smoke at the ocean winds, tennis and bonfires on the beach that lasted until dawn. Clarke fell into it, like she’d never run from it at all.

***

 At the gala, Bellamy turned heads.

 

He’d been a staple around town for…forever, but Bellamy in a suit was a very different beast than Bellamy in tennis gear.

 

He even got a haircut, though Clarke had insisted it wasn’t necessary.

 

Kings Country Club was transformed back to its decadent resting state. Abby Griffin deserved no less. Clarke snagged them a couple of champagne flutes as they walked in.

 

“Drink up, in case my mom decides to interrogate you.”

 

Bellamy gulped it down in one go while Clarke sipped demurely. The dress was blue this time and sparkling. Every time Clarke swayed, Bellamy saw the heavens.

 

She left him for just a moment to go to the restroom and Abby cornered him.

 

“Bellamy.”

 

“Mayor Griffin. Congratulations!”

 

“I’m not mayor yet but, thank you.” They clinked glasses. “And thank you for Clarke.”

 

“I’m not sure-“

 

“My daughter disappeared for a while, after the accident.” Her voice broke for a half a second. “Now she’s back and I have a feeling you had something to do with that.”

 

Bellamy flushed red, ducked suddenly bashful eyes. “I didn’t, really.” He looked up just in time to catch sight of Clarke making her way back to him. “She’s…” _The sun at its highest, lighting everything, the relieving breeze on a scorching summer day._ “She’s Clarke. She would’ve figured it out with or without me.”

 

Abby just smiled as Clarke reappeared at his side, looping her arms around his waist. “Are you terrorizing my date, Mom?”

 

“Naturally,” she said with a relieved smile. “But I’m finished.” She touched her daughter’s arm briefly. “Have fun.”

 

***

After dinner, the lights dimmed. Bellamy led Clarke to the dance floor despite her vehement protests. She stepped on his foot a few times before they got into a rhythm. He spun her out, caught her deftly and dipped her back, whispered the words of the song in her ear, something about _this magic moment_.

 

She pressed her smooth face to his stubbly cheek, swaying until she couldn’t stand in her shoes anymore.

 

***

“Are you going back to New York?”

 

Clarke kicked at a clump of sand, dwarfed by Bellamy’s dinner jacket. Her shoes dangled from his fingers. “Yep,” she said, without a hitch.

 

Of course she was. It was her senior year, not something easily skipped. And he was back to USC in a week. Did he really expect her to follow him? Bellamy fixed a smile, acted as if the ground was slipping under his feet.

 

“There’s this new train, have you heard? Runs up the East Coast and right into the heart of Manhattan.“

 

“Yeah?” His heart was still doing the crash and burn thing so he wasn’t really listening.

 

“Yeah.” She grabbed his hand, threaded their fingers. “Makes visiting South Carolina a lot easier.”

 

That had his attention. “Is that right?”

 

She kissed him first and it was a hard move that reeked of wanting and waiting. Bellamy dropped her shoes, bent her back, hands in her hair until it spilled like the crashing waves down her back. He licked a promise onto her tongue.

 

***

In the Next Lifetime:

 

Summer in Flushing Meadows, New York was more brutal than Arkadia. The stadium offered no respite from the heat and Jasper and Monty returned with several chilled cocktails for the group. They were distributed to the others silently, so as not to disturb the players.

 

It was an early round of the US Open and Clarke’s Crew, as their shirts read, had the best seats in the house.

 

They hissed when she missed a gift of an overhead and when she raised frustrated eyes to her box, Bellamy held an encouraging fist in the air. _Come on, Princess._

 

She grit her teeth as she headed back to the base line to serve the next point. He watched her shore herself up, taking time before leveling her eyes at her opponent. The next strike was deep and fast. The girl didn’t have a chance and Clarke flashed her smile to Bellamy as her friends cheered.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing an AU for Bellarke. I'd love to hear what you think!


End file.
